Aftermath
by FaithOfTheHeart
Summary: A multi-chapter story, set after Cogenitor. After learning of the cogenitor's suicide, Trip is struggling to cope. Without Jon's support, how far will he fall? Jon/Trip friendship.
1. Chapter 1 Fallen Hero

A/N; This is my second story for Enterprise. As with Trippin' Out, it's a tag for another of my favourite episodes, Cogenitor. Its ending, and that final scene between Jon and Trip, was such a shock that I didn't see coming. Poor Trip certainly didn't!

Unlike Trippin' Out, this will be a far more serious, darker story, as Trip struggles to come to terms with what's happened. It's also my first attempt at a multi-chapter story. I hope you enjoy it, and I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed my first story so kindly!

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Aftermath

Chapter One - Fallen Hero

Alone in his quarters, Trip Tucker lay on top of his bed, staring blankly into nothingness. He was too exhausted to sleep, and too scared to try. He saw her everywhere now. The cogenitor's ghost followed him like a shadow, day in, and night out. Each time he closed his eyes, even when he kept them open, he was forced to face her bitter damnation.

\_I died because of you._ _I trusted you,_ _put my faith in you. N__ow I_'_m_ _dead_… _because of you_/

Along with the bile that had filled his throat, his heart was now trying to beat itself out of his chest. Hammering out the same warning that had seen his younger cousin into a prematurely early grave.

There'd only been five years between them, but Clayton Tucker had made the youthful most of it, dismissing concerns over his lifestyle with the cheery conviction that he was going to live forever.

'_Slow down_? _Me_? _Hell_, _Trippy_, _you_'_ll_ _be feedin_'_ worms long before me_!'

Three months later, Trip had helped to carry his casket, gently lowering it into sacred Georgia ground.

He'd cried then, unashamed tears for a life that had ended far too soon, its potential never reached. He was grieving again now, consumed by guilt and regret for another life that had ended just as cruelly. Not just grief for such tragedy, but a growing envy that they now had what he was so desperate to find. Wherever their spirits had taken them, they were at peace now. Those they'd left behind… well, they just had to live on. Make mistakes, and try to learn from them.

'_You_'_ve_ _always been impulsive. M__aybe this will teach you a lesson._'

Just as it had done before, Jon's rebuke hit his already stricken conscience like a verbal sledgehammer. Causing an innocent being to kill itself. Oh yeah, this was a lesson in life that he'd never forget.

Closing his eyes against a fresh swell of tears, he lay cursing his own, stubborn stupidity. He didn't want pity. He knew he didn't deserve it, and he was in no state of mind to look for it now. All he wanted, all he craved, was the silent peace that now drew him, yet again, back to his window. He'd stood here for hours already, staring out at the breathtaking expanse and emptiness of space.

It summed up his mood perfectly. After the shock and numbness had worn off, he'd felt… empty. Anger had given way to a despair that grew deeper, and deeper, each day. Like a cancer, it was consuming him. The haggard face that stared back at him reflected how deeply its infection of him ran.

Six days had passed now, since he'd been called into his Captain's ready room to face his fury. Every word still cut Trip to his core. Every memory etched even more pain into his reflection.

'_You_'_re_ _damn right you are_!'

'_It_'_s_ _time you learned to weigh the possible repercussions of your actions._'

'_You_'_ve_ _always been impulsive. M__aybe this will teach you a lesson._'

It had been the final part, though, just one word, one gesture, that had shattered the remains of his heart.

'_Dismissed_.'

That was it. In that one moment, nine years of unbreakable friendship had crashed down around him. His desperate attempt to save it had been met with silence, and a friend's back that refused to turn.

How he'd got back to his quarters was still a blur, but his first actions within its sanctuary still lingered. He'd only just made it, too, before the shock, the horror of what he'd caused, had hit with brutal force. His dinner, and that extra portion of pecan pie, had painfully hurled itself into the base of his shower. By the time he'd finished, his gut felt like it had been ripped to pieces, and torn through his throat.

The rest of him had been totally numb. It had taken him several minutes to identify its cause. The water that had poured over him had run cold for several minutes, before he'd pulled enough of his senses together to turn it off.

Afterwards, he'd sat there, shaking. Huddled against the wall, he'd sat, soaked and frozen, and fell silently apart.

'_What have I done_? _Dear God_, _what have I done_? _How the hell can I live with this_?'

From the core of his character, he'd tried. He'd tried so hard to forgive himself, and live with his guilt. Thoughts of his family had given him the strength to fight the despair that still crippled his conscience. A soft Southern drawl that he'd so proudly inherited had reminded him of the pride and faith beneath it

'_I didn_'_t_ _raise my boys to be quitters_, _son._ _I won't accept you_'_ll_ _be the first._'

Now, though, the answer to that last question was starting to breach the last line of his defences. The photos that filled his quarters with precious connections to home no longer offered him comfort. His father's voice had fallen silent. In its place came a call that his exhaustion could no longer resist.

Turning away from the window, Trip glanced along the rows of photographs that ran along the sill below it. Throughout this mission, through everything he'd faced and endured, they'd been his anchor. Now he couldn't bear to look at them. Any of them. _Especially_ those that featured himself and Jon, arms slung around each other's shoulders. Brothers, in all but name.

But not any more. The friendship that had forged this closest of bonds was now broken, beyond all hope of repair. Without its strength and support - no, he just couldn't go on. Couldn't live with what he'd done.

Laying them face down on the sill, he whispered a choked apology, then strode out of his quarters. He knew where he had to go, to find the peace he yearned for. He knew _exactly_ what he had to do.


	2. Chapter 2 Unthinkable Acts

A/N: Oh, thank you so much for these first and very kind reviews. They're all very much appreciated!

I see I'm not the only one who felt Jon was unjustly harsh towards Trip, especially when he was in such need of his Captain's support. He'll be facing the consequences of that harshness throughout the story - and for all you angst lovers out there, both he and Trip will go through loads of that too! But, for now, Jon has to face some very worrying news.

Thanks again, to everyone who are following this story. I hope you all continue to enjoy it!

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Aftermath

Chapter Two - Unthinkable Acts

"He was doing _what_?!"

Jonathan Archer stared at his security chief, struggling to digest what Malcolm Reed had just told him.

The epitome of British reserve, he took _everything_ seriously. Rarely, if ever, joked about anything. If he'd said the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny were real, his Captain would have still believed it. Hell, he'd have believed they'd asked the Klingons over for Thanksgiving, long before he believed this. What Malcolm had told him, it was… no, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be true. He _had_ to be mistaken.

Another glance into Malcolm's face told him otherwise, forcing him to accept the unthinkable truth.

"Let me get this straight. You've just seen Trip trying to open Deck E's airlock?"

From a grimly silent nod, he felt a week's worth of niggling worry ratch itself up to all out alarm. Trip would know, more than anyone, that opening _any_ of their airlocks would have killed him instantly. Malcolm knew it too, and was understandably rattled that his friend would do anything so suicidal

"Yes, sir, he – he seemed almost in a trance. Said he was just checking it for microbreaches, but…"

Realizing he'd made his point, Malcolm paused, hesitated, before he quietly completed his duty.

"Captain, I haven't had _any_ reports of a malfunction, or any kind of threat to its integrity. There was no reason whatsoever for him to be inside that airlock."

Expecting nothing less from one of his most trusted senior officers, Jon tried to show his approval. His thoughts still consumed by the actions of another, though, he just couldn't do it. Hell, it was all he could do to breathe right now.

This wasn't the first, or only, report he'd had on his chief engineer's increasingly erratic behaviour. Hoshi had seen it first, in the mess hall the previous morning. It had left her as shaken as her Captain.

Oblivious to her presence, and everything else around him, Trip had sat staring at the knife in his hand. Running his fingers along its blade, over and over again, before resting its edge against his wrist.

He'd kept it there, motionless, until a burst of laughter from another table snapped him out of it. Placing it calmly back on his plate, he'd stood and walked past her, his eyes blank, his face a mask.

That had been yesterday. Then there'd been Ensign Kelsey's equally unsettling account from last night. Completing his checks on the reactor's coolant conduits, he'd chanced to look up and behind him – as shocked as he was startled by the sight of his CO, staring down at him from the walkway above.

In the young ensign's words, Trip's reaction to him, or rather the lack of it, had _really_ freaked him out.

Leaning over the rail, he'd studied the floor below with unnatural interest, and unnerving intent. If he didn't know better, Mike Kelsey had said, he'd have sworn he was marking where he'd land. Calculating its distance. Evaluating its effectiveness, if he were about to do the unthinkable.

Before he could say anything, though, Trip had strode away without a word of explanation, leaving one of the youngest members of his team to wonder what, if anything, he'd just done wrong.

Part their CO, part their big brother, Trip had always made a point of encouraging his junior officers – especially those like Kelsey who, as he'd proudly told his Captain, was another chief engineer in the making. So when he'd come to his Captain for advice and reassurance, Jon could only share his puzzlement. For him to just walk away like that, without a word… no, this wasn't the Trip Tucker he knew so well.

And now this.

Of all the reports he'd had about his chief engineer, this was the one that shook Jon the most. As if possessed by an unseen force, Trip had gone through the motions of committing suicide. Each time, thank God, something had made him stop. Something had pulled him back from the brink. But from what he'd just heard, that saving grace was losing the fight to keep his closest friend from… from… oh, _God._

A knot of cold fear settled in the pit of Jon's stomach. What if it had already happened? What if, as he and Malcolm had stood discussing it now, Trip had already…?

'_Oh_, _God_… _Trip_…'

"Sir?"

Malcolm's quiet voice broke Jon out of his thoughts, bringing him back to share the equally terrifying demands of the here and now. The utterly unthinkable.

"I'd try hailing him, sir, but… well, in his frame of mind, I don't want to risk antagonising him."

Still struggling to believe what his tactical officer was implying, Jon forced out a shakily quiet reply.

"It's okay, Malcolm, I'll - I'll find him. I'll take care of it."

Nodding his acknowledgement, Malcolm offered him a tight smile before he stepped through the door. He hadn't said it aloud, of course, but Jon had still heard what his friend, _and_ Trip's, had been thinking.

'_About bloody time_!'

Once he'd left, Jon felt his conscience join forces with his concern, and they both hit him brutally hard. The friend he saw as a surrogate brother was falling apart, and… _damn it_…! He hadn't even noticed.

Well, he'd been forced to take notice now, and the thought of what it could cost him was… no. No, he refused to believe it. There was no way in hell that he was going to let Trip Tucker kill himself.

Praying he hadn't left it too late, and set with fresh resolve, Jon set off on one of the most critical missions of his life. Another's life, Trip's life, was on the line. And even if it meant searching every inch of his ship, he was going to find him.


	3. Chapter 3 Hide And Seek

A/N: Ah, I see I'm not the only one who wanted to toss Archer through an airlock after that final scene! For all of you hoping that he goes through his own hell for his actions - well, I hope you won't be disappointed. For both him and Trip, there's plenty more angst on the way!

For Jon at least, it starts in this chapter. I've also popped in a reference for two more of my favourite episodes.

Thanks again for these very kind reviews, they're all much appreciated!

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Aftermath

Chapter Three - Hide And Seek

If Trip Tucker was its needle, the ship he knew like the back of his hand was one _hell_ of a haystack. Like a human blueprint, he knew all her nooks, her tiniest crannies. Every conceivable hiding place.

Jon wished he could appreciate it now, but it was a long running joke between them. Trip had started it, of course, by saying he'd so often gone where no engineer had gone before. Crawling through her maze of innards, he'd joyously grinned, left him happier than a hog in a mudpit.

And in times of hostile invasion, his ability to strike back out of nowhere had been, and still was, a priceless advantage. Those who'd tried had found out, the hard way, that one puny human was still one hell of a force to be reckoned with. Enterprise was Trip Tucker's pride and joy, his baby. And God help anyone who dared to threaten her.

The smile from this memory soon faded, though, as Jon closed the latest vent that he'd been searching. The sly guile that had saved his ship more times than he could count was now working against him.

As he knew, all too well, Charles Tucker III had all sorts of surprises up his neatly zippered sleeves. Beneath the '_aww_, _shucks_, _ma_'_am_…' charm lay a will of steel, with a resourceful streak to match. From shimmying through access tubes to disabling sensors, Trip knew all the tricks in the book. If he didn't want to be found, Jon knew there was little, if anything, that he could do about it.

All he had to go on was years of closest friendship, and simple instinct on where Trip might be.

Logic that T'Pol would commend him for had taken him to the most obvious places first. When his hail at Trip's quarters had yielded no response, he'd gone to plan B. Security override. Finding them empty hadn't surprised him, yet he'd still had to tell himself not to over react. Even if he had to take up Malcolm's offer of 'covert assistance' to do it, he _would_ find him.

Then he'd seen the row of photo frames, still lying where Trip had placed them. Face down, so he couldn't see them. All the people he loved. In his tortured mind, so they couldn't see _him_. And all of Jon's reasoned calm had flown straight out the nearest airlock. Any hope-driven doubts he'd had over his friend's intentions ended in that moment. And time, a commodity already in scant supply, was fast running out.

Ten seconds later, Malcolm Reed received the call that he'd been expecting all morning. With typical calm, he quietly excused himself from the Bridge. If T'Pol, or Hoshi, or Travis, suspected there was anything more to it than 'a meeting he'd forgotten with the Captain…' then they weren't about to show it.

Even with Malcolm's help, though, Jon's already fading optimism soon threatened to disappear as completely as his chief engineer. Engineering itself? To the confusion of his teams, no sign of him. The gym, where Trip always came to let off stressful steam? The same. That went for the mess hall, too, and a subtly casual check around sickbay. And for everyone who saw him in those places, from Ensign Kelsey, to Ethan Novakovich and Elizabeth Cutler, and finally a quietly concerned doctor – well, Jon had made the same assurance to all four of them, through the calmest smile he could manage.

"No, it's fine. I, uh, guess he's tinkering up a vent somewhere, out of comms range."

From there, he'd searched everywhere he could think of with increasing urgency, and rising dismay. With each minute that passed, the rift between them threatened to come to an unthinkable conclusion. He had to find him, though. For where that tortured conscience was leading him, he _had_ to find him

The thought of what might happen if he didn't was one that Jon couldn't bring himself to consider. And what to say when he _did_ find him? _That_ thought brought out a wry, humourless smile. Yeah, he could just imagine how the first contact they'd had in six days was likely to go.

'_Hey_, _Trip_, _how_'_s_ _it going_?'

'_Oh_, _peachy_, _Cap_'_n_! _Yeah_, _I caused an innocent life form to kill itself. Ho__w_ '_bout_ _you_? _Oh, and I'm cracking up because of it. Thinkin' of doing the same. Thanks so much for noticing.'_

And there it was. The crux, the moment that he now wished he could return to, and act on so differently. Horrified by what he'd done, Trip had stood there in his ready room, and made a whispered plea for forgiveness.

'_Cap_'_n_?'

That single word had conveyed such despair. So much anguish. All he'd had to do was respond to it. Even if it was to say he was still too furious to talk, all he'd had to do was to just turn around. But no. The Captain in him had remained unmoved. High up on his moral high horse, he'd kept his rank in place, his back unturned.

His closest friend abandoned, like an unwanted dog tied to a gate.

Thinking back on it now, Jon was regretting that decision, more than his conscience could allow. As the search for his friend approached its second hour, it overwhelmed him, in helpless frustration.

"Damn it, Trip! Where the hell are you?"

Unless he was planning to fly out of the hatch above him, Jon knew his plea would go unanswered. In each of the four directions that he could see, the hallways around him were completely empty. There was no-one around who were going to answer him, and… _what_?! _What the hell_?!

\_Listen_, _Captain_, _to what he once told you_… _you know where he is_… _just listen_…/

Not sure now if _he _wasn't the one who was cracking up, Jon's eyes then widened in puzzled relief – memories of one of Trip's most candid admissions bringing him the break he now needed to find him. Huddled in blankets, he'd smiled up from his bed in sickbay, and dryly faced his own mortality.

'_Had some pretty close calls_, _Cap_'_n_, _but_… _hell, never thought I_'_d die drunk in a freezing Shu_'_lepod._'

From a combination of dread and relief, Jon leaned for support against the wall. Out of nowhere, he'd been given inexplicable help. He wasted no time in making the most of it, and the equally vital help that would come from the other end of a hastily agreed security channel.

"Malcolm, I think I've found him. As discreetly as you can, keep _everyone_ away from the launch bay."

"Aye, sir. Standing by."

Smiling at the 'Just find him, sir…' that silently followed, Jon set off towards the launch bay, compelled by fresh hope and urgency to break into a quickening run. Pausing outside its doors, he headed instinctively towards the 'pod closest to them. Shuttlepod One, where his chief engineer and tactical officer had downed a bottle of Bourbon between them, and come damn close to freezing to death. As Trip had said himself, the last place in the world where he'd expected his life to end.

With relief and apprehension for what he might find now inside it, he then gently opened its hatch – astonished himself by how calmly he reacted to a pale, haggard face, and two haunted blue eyes.

"Hey, Trip. Mind if I join you?"


	4. Chapter 4 Critical Mass

A/N: I was hoping to post this chapter sooner, but real life has this annoying habit of getting in the way! Anyway, a little later than planned, here's the latest chapter. And for all of you who wanted a dramatic showdown between Jon and Trip - well, hopefully you won't be disappointed!

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Aftermath

Chapter Four - Critical Mass

In the handful of seconds it took for Trip to react to him, Jonathan Archer had seen all he had to see. Appalled by his friend's appearance, he hated every part of it. Hated himself even more, for causing it.

He looked awful. His face, those expressive eyes, conveyed every part of the hell he'd gone through. Worse still, he'd gone through it alone. Without the support of the friend who'd always, _always_, stood by him. And not once, _not once_, had that friend thought to check up on him, or offer any kind of reconciliation.

No, the only comfort that Trip had managed to find was an already near empty bottle of finest Bourbon. He'd not even bothered to find something to pour it into. No, he'd just been slugging it straight down. Drowning his pain the only way he knew how, until he found the courage to end it, once and for all.

So when his eyes changed, and he turned to reach behind him, Jon knew what was coming. He needed every one of his reflexes to dodge the glass that flew past him, and smashed into the wall beyond. Whether comically drunk, or stone dead sober, Trip Tucker's pitching arm still had one _hell_ of an aim.

As he'd just demonstrated, his temper could be just as deadly, and Jon knew it was fully justified. Perversely, he'd almost been glad to see it. If Trip was so spitting mad furious that he released it so violently - well, that at least meant he was still mad enough to fight for his life too. So Jon felt that earlier knot of fear return with a vengeance at what happened next.

Staring at the wall beyond them, all of its strength left Trip's eyes. This act of petulant violence seemed to have pulled all the fight, all the life, straight out of him. And when Jon saw the complete despair that took its place, he felt his blood run cold.

There was no doubt in his mind now, that Trip had come here to die. To take his own life. And if he closed that hatch before he could reach it, there'd be no way to stop him before he locked it. So the second Trip's eyes slid towards it, Jon's hand shot out too, seizing its handle into a vice like grip. From his own anger, fear, or just sheer desperation, his voice held the same edge of unyielding steel.

"No, Trip. _No_. I turned my back on you once. I'll be _damned_ if I do it again, or – or let you do this."

Willingly or otherwise, their eyes locked. Contrite green against blue that held a storm of emotions. Such fury had surged back into them that Jon flinched, convinced that Trip was about to lay him out – hence his surprise when Trip lowered his arm and backed away, allowing him to cautiously follow.

This wasn't the reaction he'd expected. And, he realized, it had been so calm. Just _far too calm_. He could see it now, as Trip's eyes changed again – reflecting the same bitterness in his voice.

"So, _now_ you want to talk."

Still wary of this deceptive passivity, even more alarmed by these switchbacking moods, Jon nodded. With so much at stake, he knew he had to get this right, first time. He couldn't risk needing a second.

"Yes, Trip, I do. I know I can't turn back time, and bring that moment back. Believe me, I wish I could. But I'm here to talk now."

He'd kept it simple, holding Trip's eyes through every word, so he could see how much he meant them. A stone faced silence suggested it hadn't been enough. Nowhere near enough. Taking a deep breath, and needing several more, he tried again.

"And I'm here to apologize, Trip, for… well, leaving it so long, before I came to talk this out."

As apologies went, it was pretty pathetic. No, _completely_ pathetic. Jon knew it, too, long before Trip hurled it back at him.

"Damn it, Cap'n, I don't _want_ your apology! I've never wanted your _apology_!" he yelled, more furious than Jon had ever seen him as he paced around the shuttlepod's limited floorspace. With no room to let him vent his anger, it came out through a voice that shook from its release.

Fuelled still more by a near emptied bottle of Bourbon, it was its very own force of nature. Wild. Terrifying. And completely unstoppable.

"What I _wanted_… yeah, _past_ _tense_, _want_-_ed_, was for you to just turn around, and _look_ at me! But no, you were up there, on your moral high horse, an' nothin' I could do or say was gonna make you come off it. Never mind all those times when you've stuck _your_ nose where it don't belong. But that doesn't count, does it? Not when you're the _Captain_, not when _you_ can make the rules up as you go along. Well, _Captain_, the hell with that rule book, an' the hell with you! Who the hell are you to judge me like that, you God-damn HYPOCRITE!"

Already reeling from the fury that was tearing into him, Jon resisted the natural urge to retaliate. Instead he stood, quietly humbled, letting Trip release the fury inside him. God knew, he had every right to.

"Yeah, I screwed up, _big_ time. I know that! You think I don't? And yeah, chances are I'll be thrown out of Starfleet too, but…"

As quickly as it had risen in uncontrollable temper, so Trip's voice now fell into its other extreme. His legs, too, had lost the strength to support him. He thudded down onto the bench-seat behind him, a broken whisper mirroring all the pain, all the torment and anguish, that now flooded his eyes.

"I wanted to _apologize_, Jon! I – I was just tryin' to apologize, an' y-you couldn't even _look_ at me!"

For one of the few times during their friendship, Jon caught a glimpse of the _real_ Trip Tucker. Not the good ol' Southern boy, who faced everything life threw at him with such cheery courage. No, this was Trip Tucker the human being, who was as vulnerable to its fragility as everyone else.

He'd gone through its worst experience imaginable. Now it had overwhelmed him. Finally broken him. Not just with the sobs that were racking through his body, but another, far more horrifying sight.

The niggling pain that had been pounding through his chest now exploded into pure, raw agony. It hit him like a sledgehammer, sucking the breath out of his lungs, sending him to his knees, in a helpless scream of terror.

Through a blur of fading awareness, he felt strong arms holding him, lifting him, cradling him. Heard a voice raised in unnatural panic, yelling his name, as even deeper darkness swept him away.

From its centre, a face materialised. The face from his dreams, made impossibly, terrifyingly, real. And as he stared back at it, too terrified to move, so it smiled, its voice ghosting through his mind.

\_Hello_, _Trip_/


	5. Chapter 5 Too Little, Too Late

A/N: Wow! Thanks so much for these latest reviews! Even if it was a bit mean of me, to leave you all on such a cliffhanger, I'm so pleased you enjoyed that chapter.

I'll get back to poor Trip in the next one. But for now, Jon has to practice what he preached, and weigh the repercussions of his actions. Yes, it's more angst for Archer!

Enjoy, and thank you all again, so much!

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Aftermath

Chapter Five - Too Little, Too Late

Jon barely felt the gentle squeeze on his shoulder. Barely heard his CMO's quietly encouraging voice.

"You couldn't have done any more, Captain. The fact that you called me to him, so quickly…"

"…meant you could reverse the arrhythmia, before it stopped his heart completely," Jon finished for him, too overwhelmed by the scene in front of him to take any comfort that would ease his conscience.

A face so full of expression, now a mask of stillness. Bright eyes so full of life, now so firmly closed. Not the Trip Tucker he knew so well. Not the Trip Tucker he'd ever expected to see in this situation.

A heart attack… no, he sourly corrected himself, an _arrhythmic seizure_… at the age of thirty? No, he still couldn't believe it. But the proof was there, all too real, lying silently in front of him. Thanks to his insensitive stupidity, Trip was fighting for his life. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help him.

The only sign that he was still alive, still breathing, was the steady rise and fall of his chest. Everything else, including the monitors above his bed, confirmed the severity of his condition. Despite everything Phlox had done to bring him round, Trip had lapsed into this inexplicable coma – his increasingly erratic neural activity causing both his doctor and his closest friend the same concern.

It represented a silent battle for life. And the only person who could win that fight was Trip himself.

For someone who lived that life to its fullest, that question should only have ever had one answer. But now? As impossible as it was for him to accept it, Jon knew it had taken on a horrifying uncertainty. Why would Trip want to return to a life that had become too painful, too awful, for him to endure?

Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, he finally turned to meet his CMO's eyes – his voice betraying the fears for a friend's life, that now rested in this unthinkably precarious balance.

"But we both know that might not be enough. All the time Trip's in this coma…"

"…he's letting his body recover from what it's been through," Phlox cut in with a gentle smile, giving his shoulder another squeeze, and the calming reassurance that only the best doctors could offer. "Just keep talking to him, Captain. Let him know you're here. Trust me, he can still hear you."

'_I don_'_t_ _doubt that_, _Doc._ _I_'_m just_ _not so sure he_'_ll_ _want to listen._'

Keeping that bleak thought to himself, Jon forced himself to smile back. There was so much more to it than that, of course, but… well, little, if anything of that mattered now.

Only he and Malcolm knew how far Trip had spiralled towards that final act of desperation. Counting on his tactical officer's discretion, he'd already decided that wouldn't, _couldn_'_t_, change. No one else, not Hoshi, or Travis, or even T'Pol and his CMO, needed to know the awful truth. If – no, _when_ – Trip regained consciousness, and could face it himself… well, they'd deal with it then.

He'd bear the guilt, too, of keeping the truth from them. These people he'd trust with his life, because – well, as he bitterly reminded himself, it was the Captain's duty to protect his crew, by whatever means necessary. And until this crisis passed, he had to protect Trip the most of all.

As far as his CMO was concerned, Trip's collapse had come from its most obvious chain of causes. After the cogenitor's suicide, he'd thrown himself into his work, desperate to find some form of solace. Jon knew himself that his chief engineer had pushed himself far beyond the limits of his health. Pulling double, sometimes triple shifts, while a body starved of rest and nourishment struggled to keep functioning. Finally, inevitably, that body had succumbed to its exhaustion, and an emotionally broken heart.

The sight of that kind, loyal, generous heart, breaking in front of his horrified eyes, would haunt Jon for the rest of his life. The terror he'd seen in Trip's eyes now seared even more guilt into an already overloaded conscience. If he'd just gone to him sooner. Come off his moral high horse, and… God damn it, just _turned around._

Oh yes, he thought bitterly, that was the best thing about hindsight. It saw everything in 20/20 vision. But to his cost, and even more tragically for the friend he'd turned his back on, it had all come too late.

And if Trip had held himself responsible for the cogenitor's suicide, surely _he_ had to do the same now. He had to stare down into Trip's face and, just as he'd done, weigh the repercussions of his actions.

'_Trip. D__ear God, how could I let this happen_?'

No closer to answering that question than he'd been six hours ago, Jon could only shake his head, his conscience forcing out an apology that was cruelly lost to the person who needed to hear it so badly.

"I'm sorry, Trip. God, I wish you knew how much I hate myself right now, for letting this happen."

'_And for letting you down_, _when you most needed me to be there._'

Ah. Another reminder of that wonderful 'if only…' hindsight that he could do nothing about. All he could do, in this long and lonely here and now, was follow his chief medical officer's advice. Even if Trip couldn't hear him, or didn't _want_ to hear him… no, he still had to know he was there.

"Trip, I know you're in a dark place right now. A place where I can't help you," he said at last, leaning forward in his chair, and taking Trip's hand into the only means of connection between them. "But I'm here, Trip. I'm here. And wherever you are, Trip, I need you to come back."


	6. Chapter 6 Seeing The Light

A/N: I can't believe this is chapter six already - half way through the story!

For those who have shared it with me, thank you again. There's more angst to come, before it concludes. But this chapter is purely for Trip, as he finds himself in a very significant place, with some even more significant company.

Enjoy!

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Six - Seeing The Light

After the darkness had come the light that Trip had instantly recognized. If briefly, he'd welcomed it.

Oh yes, he'd recognized it, all right. He'd knocked on death's door enough times to have seen, and felt, what lay beyond. Perfect peace, and tranquil quiet. A whole world, an entire realm away, from the one he'd left behind.

Well, almost. He could still hear it. A familiar voice, that brought him as much pain as it did comfort.

"_I_'_m_ _here_, _Trip._ _I_'_m_ _here. And wherever you are_, _Trip_, _I need you to come back._"

Closing his eyes against the emotions this voice had provoked, Trip still felt tears well up within them. For every time in the past when he'd come to this place, he'd always had Jon with him, to guide him out of it. Now, though, he could only hear Jon's voice, and in his eyes… well, that meant he was on his own this time. The choice of whether he lived or died rested solely in his hands.

It was a terrifyingly lonely thought.

Except he _wasn_'_t_ alone. No, for reasons he still couldn't explain, he still had its presence beside him. It was still sharing this already incredible experience.

Now, come on, Trip, he dryly chastised himself. Practise what you preach now. _She_ chose to take _your_ name. You gave _her_ identity. _Use_ it.

Turning to face her, Trip quietly asked the question that had been burning in his mind, for - what? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? In this halfway stop between life and death, time just didn't seem to exist.

"Did you make me do this, Charles? Did you make me come here?"

_Damn_, that sounded weird. And with his finely honed sense of the crazies, Trip had to smile at it. An alien life form – no, make that a _dead_ alien life form – sharing his name, if not his gender?

It felt even weirder to see her reaction to this use of her name. The smile that lit up her face, and the same pleasure that filled her reply.

\_No_, _Trip. N__o_, _just as you taught me how to experience it_, _you_'_re_ _here of your own free will._/

Reminded again of where he was, and what it signified, Trip just nodded. Glancing around him, he felt its isolation even more. This wasn't the peaceful beach he'd gone to before, or that breathtaking coastline. No, this was just… space. Aside from a tiny point of light in the distance, he was surrounded by dark, empty, featureless space.

Smiling again, if wryly, Trip shook his head. He'd take what he was given, of course, but even so. With his imagination, he'd just expected something… now, what did Jon call it? Ah, yes. _Trippish_.

"So, I'm dead, or damn close to it. In my own afterlife, and you're in it with me," he said at last, the curiosity that had landed him in this mess in the first place now replaced by poignant sarcasm. In Jon's absence – and God, he was feeling that absence now – he just hoped she understood its point.

"So, how does _that_ work? How does an alien life form make it into _my_ near death experience?"

To his astonishment, she smiled back at him, with a wisdom that he himself had allowed her to gain.

\_Because you want me to be here_, _Trip. B__ecause you need to hear what I have to say._/

Okay, so she'd understood his cynical wryness. Good, because there was still plenty more to come.

"You mean, thanks for all you taught me, and showed me? All you did for me? That kinda thing?"

\_Yes._/

Again thrown by how well she'd understood him, Trip tried, and failed, to keep hold of his emotions. She must have seen his reaction, too, because her smile also vanished. Her eyes betrayed confusion. Hurt.

\_Trip_, _I don_'_t_ _understand. W__hy are you so angry_? _Do you not understand my_… _gratitude_?/

Freezing in mid stride – _yeah_, _genius_, _where the hell are you gonna go_? – Trip spun back to face her. God forgive him, but he just couldn't stop the surge of annoyance that now snapped through his voice.

"Your… _gratitude_? Gratitude for what? Giving you all that false hope, for dreams you could never hope to realise? Promising you the life you never got to experience?"

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Trip bitterly regretted them, and… aww, _damn it_! Why was it that, as soon as he opened his big, smart mouth, he tried to fit his size ten boot inside it? And why did her response to his outburst, so calm and sweetly gentle, leave him feeling like he was the alien life form, and she was the human being?

\_But I_ _did_ _experience it_, _Trip! F__or just those few days_, _I_ _experienced knowledge. F__reedom. L__ife._/

If she was trying to reassure and thank him for what he'd done, then - well, for the life of him, Trip couldn't see it. Emotions that he still couldn't quite control now erupted back to the surface.

"That _you_ ended! You took that life, and you _ended_ it… because of _me_!" he railed back at her, again consumed so much by his guilt and anger that her attempts to dispel it _almost_ passed him by.

\_No_, _Trip._ _I ended it because of __them. I chose to end it,_ _to defy __them. T__o defy the life that I would have had to endure at their hands. What __they_'_d_ _turn me back into._/

_Now_ the light dawned. Now he saw the connection that brought everything back into perspective. And wasn't it just incredible, that a distant part of his own world's history should now have a profound effect on one that was light years away from it?

"A life with no voice, no rights, and no freedom. Little more than a slave. The kind that took years of war on my world to set free," he said at last, his eyes growing wider as he started to understand the gift he'd given her.

Not the death that he'd blamed himself for, so bitterly. That had left him so crippled with guilt that he'd decided to kill himself. No, for just those few days, he'd given the gift of life. A life free of the servitude which she'd been forced to endure, and - _damn_! Was this how Lincoln had felt?

She must have sensed his thoughts somehow, because her smile grew even wider. The gratitude in her voice even deeper.

\_Can you not see_, _Trip_? _I didn_'_t_ die _because of you._ _I learned to __live, because of you._ _I learned to be __free._/

Pausing, she then reached to cradle his face in her hands. If it was possible, for the ghost of an alien life form to express love through its eyes, then Trip was certainly experiencing it now.

\_And it was wonderful_./

Still stunned by what she'd just said, and what he'd just realized, Trip finally managed to smile back. Still trying to find a reply, he then frowned instead, glancing more uncertainly beyond her. That distant point of light was growing brighter. Coming closer. In both relief and frustration, Trip knew what it signified.

He'd made his decision. He was going to go back.

There was still so much for him to say, though, but no time left to say it. It filled him with a crushing sense of sadness.

"So, what – what happens now? I – I mean, how do I live with this? Where do I go from here?"

For several moments, she didn't answer. She just smiled up at him, holding his eyes with her own. She stroked his face, his hair. Brushed away his now helpless tears, until dazzling light finally engulfed them.

\_You know the answer to that already_, _Trip. Y__ou need to __live. Yo__u need to __live_, _for __me._/

A final smile. The softest kiss on his cheek. Then her face and voice changed, into another's face. Another's voice, that he'd recognize anywhere.

"…_we_'_ll_ _face it together. B__ut right now_, _Trip_, _I _ne_ed you to wake up._ _I just need you to wake up._"


	7. Chapter 7 Anchoring Hope

A/N: Well, after a slight hiccup with its formatting, here's today's chapter. Thanks again for these lovely reviews, and I'll hopefully get more of the story posted through the Easter weekend.

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Seven - Anchoring Hope

00.17. Still keeping vigil at Trip's bedside, Jon was now feeling every one of those witching hours. He was exhausted, demoralised, and still deeply shaken by the night's traumatic events. But until Trip regained consciousness, until he came out of this damn coma, he was _not_ going to leave him.

He hadn't been entirely alone, of course. Nor was he keeping the truth behind Trip's collapse to himself either. Denobulan doctors, it seemed, were as suited to hearing guilt ridden confessions as the more traditional priests back on Earth.

After hearing the whole, sorry story, Phlox had simply nodded. There'd been surprise, of course, maybe a trace of silent disappointment. But no criticism, or judgement. Just his CMO's quiet compassion, trying to boost his flagging spirits.

"Well, Captain, you and the Commander will certainly have a lot to resolve when he wakes up. As I've said before, he _can_ still hear you, so… well, I can't see any harm in starting that process now. The best thing you can do if you want to regain his trust is to let him know you're here. Allay any fears he may have had before you found him, and before he collapsed. Let him know that you're right there beside him now, no matter what."

Taking him at his word, Jon had kept up a quiet, if sadly one sided conversation with his friend. Making those promises, and apologies, and everything else he should have said in his ready room. Promising him the support that, he prayed, Trip would soon be able to hear in reality.

"…and even if this _does_ get back to Starfleet, Trip, I'll stand by you. We'll face it together."

'_And why the hell didn_'_t_ _I tell you that sooner_? _Before you ended up in this damn bed_?'

Pushing away the niggling voice of his conscience, Jon tried to hold onto the hope it was denying him. Trip's friendship meant too much to him to give up on it so easily. For his sake, for Trip's, he'd fight for it. He'd fight like hell, until he rebuilt it. He'd do whatever he had to do, to regain a trust he still wasn't sure he deserved.

Before he could do any of that, though, he had to bring Trip out of his coma. If that meant talking him back to life, then - well, so be it.

"…whatever happens, Trip, we'll face it together. But right now, Trip, I need you to wake up. I just need you to wake up."

Met with silent stillness, he sank back in his chair, wincing at the all too familiar crush of frustration. He'd made this plea so many times during this interminable night that he'd given up counting them. For every time he'd said them, he'd been answered with silence. A heartbreaking lack of response.

But something was happening now. Out of nothing and nowhere, something was _definitely_ happening.

He sat up. Stared. He rubbed his eyes, several times, then focussed them back on the face in front of him. No, he hadn't willed it to happen, or imagined it. Tears, _real_ tears, were sliding down Trip's cheeks. His breathing hitched into a muffled sob. His mouth moved through the motions of soundless words.

"I – I will… I'll never f'rget you…"

Silence then, that stretched on for so long that Jon had almost convinced himself he was seeing things. Then more tears, sliding down the side of Trip's cheek, conveying the anguish of a last, final farewell.

"G'bye…"

After hours of anxious watching and waiting, that was it. As suddenly as he'd returned to life, Trip slid back into his twilight world of silence and stillness. But a surge of neural activity confirmed it, long before Jon turned to throw an elated yell behind him.

"_Phlox_! Phlox, he's – he's waking up!"

Never far from his patients, or those who watched anxiously over them, Phlox strode to Jon's side. He studied the monitors above Trip's bed with, Jon dryly noted, rather more restraint than he'd just done. And the Cheshire Cat grin that had always freaked him out now lifted a crushing weight from his shoulders.

"Yes, Captain, he's undoubtedly coming round. All his vital signs are holding, and improving. But he won't be fully awake for a while yet."

Jon was grinning too now, in pure elation that the moment he'd prayed for had finally come. But, as he reflected more calmly on what he'd just seen and heard, that relief faded significantly. God, even now, Trip was going through undeserved hell. All that anguish, those still seeping tears. Gently brushing them away, the big brother instincts that he'd always felt towards his friend kicked straight back into overdrive.

"But why was he crying, doc? Is – Is he in pain?"

Already checking his scanner, and those all important monitors, Phlox smiled and shook his head.

"No, Captain, he isn't in any pain, or discomfort. He's just in a deep, natural sleep," he said at last, choosing his next words with some care, for the realization he knew his Captain had now reached himself. "I would imagine that reaction was for… well, the decision he's just made."

"Whether to come back, or stay where he was," Jon finished for him, his voice equally quiet. Relief that it had been the right choice turned back to concern as he glanced back at his friend. An unknown entity had persuaded Trip to come back to him. It made his next words oddly hard to say.

"I – I just wonder who's convinced him to make it. How much that choice has taken out of him."

If Phlox had any thoughts on that point, then he'd chosen to keep them to himself, at least for now. His more immediate concerns were for his patient. For his Captain, too, and all the emotions he knew he'd be feeling. Elation for his friend's recovery, tempered by all the doubts for the difficult, no doubt painful days that still lay ahead.

"You and the Commander share a bond that's closer than most brothers," he said at last, moved by more than his natural compassion to place his hand on Jon's shoulder. "It's seen you through everything you've faced so far. I've no doubt it will see you through this."

When this didn't quite bring his Captain's smile into his eyes, he then tried a more visual approach, for the connection that had proved so vital in bringing Trip home.

"He's going to need all your support to bring him through this. And I doubt he'd let you keep such a crucial connection with him, if he didn't want you to be here."

Thrown for a moment, by what he was trying to say, Jon glanced down to where Trip's hand still rested within his own. He could see it now, this simple but vital contact between them. Even as he returned his CMO's smile, though, he just wished that Trip was still conscious enough to hear the support that he should have offered him before, all those days ago.

"Whatever it takes, Phlox, to get him through this, and back on his feet… he'll get all the help he needs."


	8. Chapter 8 The Calm Before The Storm

A/N: Ah, the joy of having four days holiday through Easter - I don't have to wait until I get home to post up more of this story!

As its title suggests, there's some more serious angst to come, for both Jon and Trip. Hopefully, I'll get that chapter posted tomorrow.

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Eight - The Calm Before The Storm

Even in his darkest hours, and God knew, he'd had plenty of them, Jon had never considered suicide. The thought of being in such despair as to kill himself had been too appalling to even contemplate. So he could only imagine what his closest friend had just been through. What thoughts were passing now, behind the eyes that stared blankly up at him.

Then again, much of that blankness came from the meds that still held Trip under a gentle, healing sedation. As Phlox had explained, he wouldn't be fully lucid for several more hours, at least. Then, he'd gently warned, he _would_ start to remember. From his expression alone, Jon knew how painfully hard that moment would be. In fear for what it might lead to, he was dreading it.

For now, though, Trip was slowly becoming more aware of his surroundings. Until he gained the strength to yell at him, or hit him, or whatever else he felt justified to do – well, the guilt and regret that was still crushing Jon's conscience would just have to stay there.

His only comfort, that he'd also gladly cling to, was the hand that Trip was still allowing him to hold. Throughout that night, he'd held onto it. Refused to let it go, even when he, too, had drifted to sleep. So he'd been unaware of the first time that Trip had woken, if briefly, and recognized where he was. When he'd seen him sitting, sprawled asleep at his side, and felt the contact that brought him so much comfort.

As Phlox had gently explained, before he'd drifted back to sleep, he'd been there all night. _All night_.

Staring down at it now, for what felt to Jon like an eternity, Trip then slowly raised his eyes again, frowning against the grogginess that was turning memory and reality into a dizzyingly confusing blur.

"You're st – st'll h're?"

Seeing that frown through rather different eyes, Jon forced out what he hoped was a calming, placating smile. He'd spent hours waiting for this moment. Thinking, then re-thinking, what he'd say when it came. Now that it had… well, God help him if he said, or did, or just implied, anything that screwed it up.

"Yes, Trip, I am. Here where I need to be… where I _should_ have been, long before now."

As peace offering first words went, he'd spoken them it as sincerely as he could. Stressed the word that had to make its point. Silently prayed that it would be enough. And winced now, as Trip just nodded, and closed his eyes. While not unexpected, it was the reaction he'd dreaded, and… no, he couldn't let it end like this.

"Trip, if – if you want me to go, I will. I'll understand, I'll do whatever you want," he said at last, taking a deep breath, before adding what he needed to say, and what he hoped Trip would agree to hear. "But I'm hoping with everything I have, Trip, that you'll want me to stay."

Five seconds passed. Then five more. And still the response he'd hoped so much to see failed to come. Yet again, Trip was a world away from him. Not just in sleep, but so far beyond it, and _damn it_!

Resigned now, to the message that he was silently sending him, he started to rise from his seat – then sat straight down again, staring with freshly hopeful eyes at the fumbling grip around his wrist. To his greater amazement, Trip's eyes had opened again, revealing a further storm of emotions.

Relief. Hope. Gratitude. And fear, that grew deeper, through near desperation, into a barely audible plea.

"St-St'y. Ne'd – need to talk."

Despite all the years they'd known each other, Jon stared at his friend, in equal parts of pride and astonishment. Just hours after waking from his coma, after everything he'd been through, Trip wanted to talk _now_?

No, however badly they both wanted to start resolving their differences, it was surely too soon. But then he'd failed to take into account one of Trip Tucker's most legendary, if exasperating traits. Stubborn as a whole herd of mules? Yes, that was Trip. And if he wanted to talk, then… damn, he'd do it.

"I – I saw her! Jon, she w's th're… she tol' me t' come b'ck."

He was becoming agitated now, using up strength that he needed to heal, and couldn't afford to waste. It made it thankfully easier for Jon to restrain him, but still poignantly hard to calm him down. To see him like this, so sick, and scared, so close to the edge, was almost too much for him to take.

And he'd realized now, who Trip had seen, in that twilight world between his life and his death. God, no wonder he was shaking like a damn leaf. More to the point, how the hell could he stop it?

The answer was astonishingly simple. It came to him, as soon as he saw the fear in Trip's eyes. The protectiveness he'd always felt towards him was at its strongest when he was hurt, or in danger. Hoping that Trip still trusted him enough to respond to it, that big brother streak kicked in again now. And holding him didn't just help to calm him down, it also started to rebuild the bond between them.

"Yes, Trip, I know. We've both got a lot to talk about. I have so much to apologize for," he said gently, so aware of the nine years between them, this strange vulnerability, that made Trip seem even younger.

"But right now, you need to sleep. It's okay, Trip, I'll be here… right here… just go back to sleep."

He resisted it. He fought it, defied it, and refused to give in to it – just as Jon proudly knew he would. Finally, though, exhaustion, and the gentle pull of sedatives won, and coaxed Trip back into a healing haven of dreams. Watching him settle, Jon could only hope they'd be a lot more peaceful than those he'd had before.

Had it been a dream, though? A figment of Trip's imagination? Or had it been something else?

Knowing the answer to that already, Jon sighed, rubbing his eyes at the thought of yet another bridge to cross. Like all the others, he'd cross it when he came to it. Quietly hope that Trip would cross it with him. But, for now, while he had the chance to do so, he'd just sit here quietly, and watch Trip sleep.

The calm, he dryly realized, before he'd face one _hell_ of a storm.


	9. Chapter 9 Fight Or Flight

A/N: Hmm, for a moment there, I thought I'd broken the site! Still, everything looks to be fixed now, so here's today's chapter. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Nine - Fight Or Flight

Coffee, and quiet voices around him, slowly pulled Trip out of his dreams, and away from the Gulf's breathtaking coastline. The dive he'd been enjoying through its crystal clear waters had been so real, so vivid. So… _normal_. Totally different to the last place he'd been, where he'd…

…no, its memories had already slipped away.

A world away, too, from the brightness, and puzzling sights, that now slid in to take their place.

That a face now emerged from it felt oddly familiar too, tugging at a frustratingly sluggish mind. But like all the other fragments that were still not quite connecting, that memory also eluded him.

He still recognized it, though. And, if still weakly, he managed to return its encouraging smile. Even if he was sick, or injured, if Jon was beside him, then everything had to be okay. And that coffee smelled good too. _Really_ good.

Jon had clearly seen the longing in his eyes, and was finding it hard to resist it, since he now turned to seek his CMO's approval. When it came, he returned it with a broad grin, before he turned back to Trip, and slid a gentle arm under his shoulders to support him.

"Slowly now, Trip, it's still hot. Just a bit at a time… slowly now, that's it."

Pushing those still niggling images out of his mind, Trip lay trustingly against him. For now, at least, he accepted Jon's presence, his comfort and encouragement, while he slowly drank the rest of his coffee. It tasted wonderful, too, although the alertness it brought him soon became as much a curse as it was a blessing.

Jon could already see it, in the way Trip's eyes changed through their now familiar war of emotions. Memories that he just wasn't strong enough to face yet were returning. He was starting to remember.

Through anger and pain, regret and bitter fury, he was remembering it. _All_ of it. Every damn moment. And in that split second of cognizance, the quiet harmony between them came to a crashing end.

For Jon, it was a heartbreaking repeat of their first confrontation, as Trip's eyes blazed back to life. Shoving a now thankfully empty cup away from him, his next words burned with the same contempt.

"G't the hell 'way from me!"

As soft and weak as they were, those words were like knives through Jonathan Archer's heart. For several moments, he just sat there, helplessly caught between Trip's fury, and how to respond to it. If he did this, if he walked away now, that would be it. His fight to save their friendship would be lost.

He'd lose something so special, so precious and unique, that was also completely irreplaceable. And however angry he was, he knew Trip would eventually realize it too, and bitterly regret it. So when he saw Phlox's subtlest nod of encouragement, Jon knew what he was silently telling him.

'_Fight for it_, _Captain. I__f his friendship means anything to you at all_, _fight for it. F__ight for __him._'

Buoyed by fresh resolve, Jon re-met those fiercely bright eyes, took a deep breath, and made his stand.

"You've every right to be angry, Trip. God knows, I've had this coming," he said at last, bracing himself for the furious, gut kicking response that he'd already resigned himself to receive. "And you can wish me to burn in hell too, if you want to, but… no. No, Trip. I'm not leaving."

Now it was Trip's turn to stare into a face, into piercing eyes, that were clearly determined to defy him. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. Yet, in truth, it was also the reaction he'd silently hoped for. It meant he hadn't imagined those words of comfort. What he'd thought had been an '_if only_' dream.

'_Whatever happens_, _Trip_, _we_'_ll_ _face it together_… _I_'_m_ _with you_, _Trip_… _I_'_ll_ _get you through this_…'

Jon still believed in him. Still believed their friendship was worth saving. That _he_ was worth saving. And just as Jon had heard Phlox's voice in his mind, so Trip now felt her presence again in his own.

\_Listen to him_, _Trip._ _I_'_ve_ _forgiven you_, _so you can forgive yourself. N__ow do the same for him._/

Overwhelmed now by her legacy, what he'd sworn to do for her, Trip felt his anger, all of his senses, reel. Even more turmoil joined them as he looked into Jon's eyes, and saw the silent challenge within them.

Nine years of priceless friendship, set against those few moments of madness that had torn their worlds apart.

Their consequences had pushed him to go through utter hell. Forced him to make the ultimate decision. After what he'd just been through… hell, this decision to just lie back and listen would be a cakewalk.

All well and good for him, of course. Less so for the friend who, he realized, looked like death himself.

'_Damn_, _Cap_'_n! W__hen the hell did you get so old_?'

Guilty concern continued to niggle him for several moments, before calmer, if wry inner reason, dispelled it. There'd been more than enough self destructive blame already. Well, it ended here, and it ended now.

"If I could, Cap'n, I'd deck you right now. When I get outta here, I may still do it," he said at last, allowing himself the merest hint of a smile, to return the delight and relief that now lit up Jon's face.

Still wondering what the hell had just happened, Jon then grinned. Damn, what the hell did it matter? In his eyes, and from his CMO's equally proud smile, all that mattered was a quiet offer of conciliation.

"But if you're good with the talkin' here, Cap'n, then… yeah, I'm good wi' the listenin'…"

Settling back into his pillows, and against the lulling tug of his meds, he then added a wry grin that was worth its weight in dilithium.

"Though you might wanna get a move on, b'fore I conk out on ya."


	10. Chapter 10 Promises Made

A/N: Well, it had to happen. There I was, thinking there'd be twelve chapters to this story, then my plot bunnies throw even more ideas into my strange little mind. So the chapter count is now up to fourteen. If there's any more changes, you'll see it here first!

So, here we are, with chapter ten. And yes, by the time I finished it, I did need chocolate. Whether for Easter or not, it's the best comfort food in the world. ;o)

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Ten - Promises Made

They almost made it. Came so close to beating the far stronger pull of pain killing sedatives. Not that Jon minded. All the time that Trip lay like this, sleeping and smiling, it meant he was healing too. And when he finally awoke, and managed to grin drowsily back at him, Jon felt even happier.

Thanks to the strength of their friendship, and coffee they could use as an alternative fuel source – yes, with patience, time, and equal shares of talking and listening, they were going to get through this.

Between sips of coffee, and slighter longer pauses to gather his strength, it was Trip's turn to talk now. As Jon had expected, his normally ebullient friend was in a quieter, more reflective mood than usual. But not even he could have foreseen the soft, almost shy admission that took him completely by surprise.

"Y'know, I've always been afraid somethin' like this was gonna happen between us."

Assuming that Jon would understand, and realizing he hadn't quite got there, Trip then smiled. In thoughtful silence, he studied the depths of his mug, as if he'd find the inspiration inside it for what he quietly said next.

"I – I mean, with you bein' my best friend an' all, as well as my Captain."

Even with its clarification, Jon was still surprised by a point that, in truth, he'd never really appreciated. What it felt like, for Trip to constantly balance their personal relationship against his professional duty.

Yes, they'd had arguments before. And yes, there'd been times when he'd used his rank to win them. But he'd rarely stopped to think on the effect it would have on Trip's pride. His unwavering loyalty.

Instead, he'd turned it into a mocking joke. Three lightly teasing words, to suit all eventualities.

"_Go to sickbay_, _Trip_… _get some sleep_, _Trip_… _get those engines online_, _Trip_… _that_'_s_ _an order._"

The thought of it made him shake his head now. Treating his closest friend like a damn two year old. God, it was a miracle that Trip hadn't decked him for it, long before now. Or, he dryly reflected, royally kicked his ass. He was no slouch in combat himself, of course, but with the advantage of those nine years, and youthful speed on his side, he had no doubt that Trip could still cheerfully paste him onto the nearest wall.

Well, from everything else he'd learned from this experience, he was going to start appreciating it now.

"You mean acting under my orders, even if you disagree with them? Or have to act against them?"

Answered with a tiredly awkward nod, Jon nodded too, while instinctively taking up the lead – letting Trip recover his strength, and bracing himself for it too, before they both relived that moment.

"Yeah, I know. I was acting as your Captain, Trip, when it _should_ have been as your friend."

The last time they'd faced it, there'd been hell to pay. For Trip, the cost had almost been irrecoverable. Now, in calmer, second chance hindsight, all Jon heard in his voice was a tired, rueful sadness.

"All I needed you to do, Jon, was just turn around, and look at me."

Still held in its memory, Jon could only nod as he met Trip's eyes, and saw the same regret inside them. There was no anger this time. It flooded Jon's conscience instead, with the enormity of its impact.

"But I was too much the damn Captain to do it, and… Christ, Trip, look at what it did to you."

He hadn't meant to say it so sharply, but the surging emotions inside him had given him little choice. He had to get up now. Had to stride around Trip's bed to release the fury. The fear. The terror.

"I spent ten hours, Trip. _Ten damn hours_, watching you fight for your life after that seizure."

Watching Trip react to his anger, not daring to let him misinterpret it, Jon forced himself to calm down. God, he hadn't recovered yet from that first seizure. He'd be damned if he'd let him suffer another.

Returning to his seat, he gently took Trip's hand. Seeking, and finding, comfort from its living strength.

"And every second of them scared the hell out of me. But you know what scared me even more?"

'…_even more_, _sometimes_, _than the thought of losing you_…'

"It was the thought that something so damn simple could cost me _your_ trust. _Our _friendship."

'…_your life_,_ Trip_… _and_ _I_'_d_ _never have the chance to say sorry_…'

He knew he had to, but he couldn't bring himself to say that last part. Then again, he didn't need to. Jon could see that same realization, the compassion that had already forgiven it, written in Trip's eyes. Feel it in the hand that now released its grip on his own, and moved up to re-place it on his shoulder. And, finally, he heard in the voice that was starting to break now, through its own stricken apology.

"I'm – 'm sorry too, Jon. God, I – I am so, _so_ sorry, for – for puttin' you… us… through this."

Whether silent or spoken, there they were. Two stricken confessions, from two broken souls. From two separate directions, they'd been through hell. Now came the time for them to mutually heal.

Two overly-bright blue eyes were a telling giveaway as to who needed that comfort first. Who needed it _now_.

As Trip started to sit up, so Jon caught him, lifting him the rest of the way into a bracing hug. Wrapping him into his arms, he held him tighter, as both of them broke down, into a rush of releasing tears. Continued to hold him, through slowing, softening sobs - and long after he felt Trip's body relax against him, into the deadweight of sleep.

Only when he'd regained his composure did he finally release him, and ease him gently down again. Settling back into his seat, Jon brushed away the remaining tears from Trip's face, while he left his own untouched. He needed them to stay there, a physical reminder of this pivotal moment. He had his friend back. His Trip, his surrogate brother. And now he made him a heartfelt promise.

"For both our sakes, Trip, this will never happen again. N_ever_ again."


	11. Chapter 11 A New Birth Of Freedom

A/N: Well, after all the angst and drama, we're in the home straight now. There's a few more bumps in the road to come, and one last part of his experience for Trip to confront. But before he gets there, I thought I'd give him, and Jon, a bit of lighter relief.

Thanks again, for staying with me, and I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Eleven - A New Birth of Freedom

In terms of its physical healing, Trip's recovery from his latest close call bordered on the miraculous. Just four days after his collapse, and under strict orders to rest, Phlox released him back to his quarters. The psychological healing, though, and fully repairing a friendship that had come so close to breaking – well, as Jon had realized from the lingering awkwardness between them, that would take a little longer.

They'd laid the groundwork back in sickbay, although that in itself had also been a frustrating process. He'd had to strike a fine balance between their need to talk, and Trip's equally important need to regain his strength. The breakdown they'd shared had taken a lot out of him. And just because Phlox has released him that morning, that consideration would have to continue. The fact they were talking at all… well, all things considered, Jon would gratefully settle for that alone.

Even so, he wasn't so naïve as to think they'd just bounce back from this, as if it had never happened. This whole sorry experience had shaken him. Affected him every bit as deeply as it had affected Trip. With trust to rebuild on both sides, he was all too aware that it was still very much a work in progress.

'_As long as it takes,_' he now reminded himself, studying the peace offering that he'd brought from the mess hall. '_If it means bribery_, _and more helpings of humble pie_, _I_'_ll_ _do whatever it takes to get him back._'

That Trip answered his hail so quickly was an encouraging sign. So was that wry, much missed smile. Best of all, though, were the folded arms. The raised brow, above mischievously bright eyes. And a barrel load of finest Southern sarcasm.

"So you think you can buy me with pie?"

From surprise, and sheer relief at seeing his friend more at ease with himself, Jon grinned back. It had been an admirable attempt, but it hadn't fooled him in the slightest. Trip's eyes had latched onto those plates with all the deadly accuracy of one of Malcolm's torpedoes.

"A double treat from Chef. Your choice of pecan, or finest Key Lime. Or both," he winked, nodding towards his other secret weapon, who'd already made himself snugly at home on top of Trip's bed. "And if that doesn't work, there's always Porthos."

Even if it had come from trying to stop Porthos licking his face off, Trip's response was priceless. Not so much the fondness behind his words, but, more significantly, the quiet laughter that joined them.

"Yeah, there's always Porthos."

Feeling happier than he'd done since this whole mess had ended, Jon followed him into his quarters, quietly noting the small but significant changes that Trip had made since the last time he'd seen him. He'd showered, for a start, and taken the same pains to remove several days growth of stubble. Even in his civvies, it still confirmed Jon's hopes that he'd started to regain some of his self respect, and pride in his appearance.

Books that he now gently rescued from Porthos' attentions indicated another, equally precious return. As avid a reader as his Captain, the shelf above his bed held an impressive range of subjects and titles. From literary classics, to natural history, to his beloved engineering and archaeology, Trip's curiosity and thirst for knowledge held no bounds. For him to be taking an interest in them again filled Jon with a warming tide of both pride and relief.

One volume in particular caught his interest as he picked it up, and tested its weight between his hands. When he saw the subject that governed its size, he couldn't resist throwing his friend a quizzical smile.

"A little light reading before bedtime?"

Still fighting a losing battle against a hyperactive beagle, Trip frowned for a moment, then shrugged. To Jon's surprise, he looked embarrassed now, almost to the point where Jon feared he'd overstepped the mark. So it was a relief when the smile reappeared, without any help from Porthos' eagerly ticklish tongue.

"Yeah, the… uh, Civil War. Just re-readin' Lincoln's address at Gettysburg. It… uh… well, it felt kinda appropriate."

Recognizing its significance, Jon just nodded as he passed the book more reverently back to him. He couldn't help but feel guilty for causing it, but the mood had definitely changed now. And as he sat down at Trip's side, he quietly respected it. Resting his hand in Trip's shoulder, he waited in patient, supportive silence for him to continue.

"You know the craziest thing, Jon? She thanked me. She actually _thanked_ me, for what I did."

Reliving that experience, that memory, Trip shook his head, as if in doubt that it had really happened. Studying his book, running his fingers over its covers, it was some moments before he spoke again.

"She said I'd given her the greatest gift. That just for those few days, she learned to live. Be free."

Suddenly restless, he then rose to his feet, striding the short distance across the room to his window. Pausing there, he walked slowly along it, until every one of his photographs had regained their place. One of them, the last one he'd turned downward on that fateful day, lingered slightly longer in his hands. Gently polished against the sleeve of his shirt, it too joined this moment of private healing.

When he turned around again, his eyes were suspiciously bright. For seeing who'd featured in that photograph, so were Jon's.

"Goin' a bit stir crazy in here. And it's only been six hours," he said at last through a shaky smile, hesitating for several more moments, as if trying to decide if he should ask what he finally said next. "D'you think Phlox would mind if I… y'know, got out of here for a while?"

Already guessing where he wanted, _needed_, to go, Jon had already moved instinctively to his side.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he said gently, smiling back at him, resting his hand on Trip's shoulder, and keeping it there, as they left his quarters.

One last hurdle to face. One last memory to confront. And one last, remaining demon to lay to rest. And just as he'd promised him, during that endless night at his bedside, they'd face them all together.


	12. Chapter 12 Promises Kept

A/N: When I finished this story, there were originally twelve chapters. But then my wonderful plot bunnies gave me a few more ideas for a different ending. So there'll be two more chapters after this one. No, really, I *think* they're happy now. Nothing worse than an unhappy plot bunny.

After the lighter moments in the previous chapter, Jon and Trip need to get back to some unfinished business. And since it will be rather tricky for both of them, I thought they'd appreciate seeing a friendly face, before they have to deal with it.

Enjoy!

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Twelve - Promises Kept

To the rest of their crew, the sight of their Captain and chief engineer walking together wasn't unusual. Whether teasing each other, solving the latest threat against them or, as now, in deep conversation – well, to the men and women who served under their command, they saw these variations every day.

If they'd looked closer, though, they might have seen subtle differences. A silent, private re-bonding. They'd have seen the hand that rested on Trip's shoulder. The unvoiced appreciation on Trip's face. Noticed how protectively Jon was watching him, as if he couldn't bear to let him out of his sight.

Of course, he _had_ almost died. _Again_. To them, at least, that explained their Captain's behaviour. It was a natural reaction, from one friend to another, to care about their wellbeing. But for one of the people who knew the full story, Jonathan Archer's actions meant so much more.

En route to the armoury, Malcolm Reed saw these subtle gestures, and understood them all. He kept his own emotions to himself, but now he greeted his Captain with an approving smile, that grew even warmer as he turned towards Trip.

"Good to have you back, Commander."

Seeing no reason to read any more into such a natural gesture, Trip returned it just as easily - taking his usual lead against that quieter British reserve, and giving Malcolm a friendly slap on the arm.

"Thanks, Malcolm. It's good to be back."

To Trip's surprise, though not so much his Captain's, Malcolm seemed reluctant to leave it at that. Of course, staring death in the face together had formed a close bond between two polar opposite personalities. Or maybe it was Trip's more sociable nature, rubbing off on him. But for whatever reason, Malcolm now cast both caution and the protocol of rank aside, and addressed his senior officer with rather less formality than usual.

"I'm… glad you're all right, Trip."

The hesitation through his words had passed through less than a second. But the expression on his face, and Trip's thoughts of when they'd last seen each other, gave it a weighty significance. Brought a special meaning to the relief, and gratitude, that passed silently between them.

For Jon, of course, there was another glance of private understanding, before Malcolm left them, and headed off on his way. It had been the briefest exchange between them, and he'd been sure that Trip hadn't seen it. A quiet question reminded him, through a rueful smile, that he should have known better.

"I'm guessin' he knows, Jon, an' I'm fine with that. But does anyone else know about… well, where you found me? How far gone I was?"

More convinced than ever now, that his friend had several more senses than just five, Jon smiled. A psychic chief engineer? The thought was a scary one. But then he recognized the genuine concern behind Trip's question. Could the people who served under him still trust a CO who'd tried to kill himself? He turned completely serious to answer it.

"Yes, Trip, he knows. He was the one who… well, gave me one _hell_ of a heads up. He even helped me to try and find you, but… well, we did it alone. No-one else knew what was happening then, Trip, and they still don't. It was just me and Malcolm. No one else."

"Yeah, after seein' me in that airlock, I kinda knew he would. I knew that line about microbreaches was never gonna fool him," Trip agreed, his voice equally quiet, but still holding a rueful humour as he shook his head. To Jon's relief, there was no anger or resentment in his eyes. Just silent gratitude. Accepting calm. "And I'm guessin' Phlox does too, with that whole doctor/patient thing?"

There was a hint of smile on his face now. And Jon was more than happy to return it.

"Yes, Trip, he knows too. I… uh, felt he had to. But that's it, there's no one else. It's just between us."

Half way through an approving nod, Trip's eyes then narrowed into puzzled, questioning frown. As third in command, he'd waited for a name that he'd expected to hear, but that had been notably absent. As a friend who'd also sensed the tension beside him, he had to find out why, so he could try to dispel it.

"Not T'Pol?"

There was no outward sign of its increase, but Trip still felt it. Heard it subtly change the tone of Jon's reply.

"No, Trip, I didn't tell her. A bit better late than never, but… well, I had to put _your_ interests first. Made sure I protected them, _and_ you."

Okay, so he had his answer. But from the edge in Jon's voice, Trip was still far from happy with it. And if it took stopping them dead in their tracks, folding his arms, and glaring at his Captain, until he answered him fully – well, even if it meant getting busted down to janitor, cleaning out the heads with a toothbrush, he'd do it.

Knowing this was a stand off that he was just never going to win, Jon smiled. He had no idea how Trip did this - relieving the stress that the demands of command constantly placed on him. He was just damn glad he was still around to do it.

"I was all ready, Trip, to grant her asylum, but… well, T'Pol talked me out of it," he said at last, giving Trip's shoulder a grateful squeeze of acknowledgement as they resumed their walk. "To her cost, and yours, I made that decision as a bit too much like a Vulcan, and not enough as a human being."

A point that Trip might have furiously hurled back at him four days ago. But now? No. Not quite so much. A lot had changed since then. _He'd_ changed.

"Aw, c'mon, Jon! You couldn't have known what she was gonna do any more than I did!"

Another fair point. And the more he considered it, the more Trip realized what he had to say next.

"'sides, T'Pol was right, and so were you. I had no right to interfere, tryin' to tell 'em how to live their lives."

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. You _were_ acting for the best intentions," Jon reminded him, realizing this was the long overdue time to lift some of that burdening blame from Trip's shoulders. "I've got to take responsibility for that too, Trip. I could…I _should_, have given her asylum."

Aaah, that wonderful hindsight again. Still, at least Trip now appreciated the position he'd been in.

"At the cost of losing the Vissians' friendship? Such a potentially valuable ally?"

Wincing at the poignant irony, Jon tried, but failed, to keep the crack of bitterness out of his voice.

"The cost was almost so much more, Trip. And however badly we need allies out here, your life is a price I'll _never_ be prepared to pay."

Well, Trip thought dryly, if that wasn't the perfect way to end _that_ little debate. With perfect timing, too. So absorbed in their discussion, neither of them had noticed that they'd reached their destination.

Coming to its doors, Trip paused, running his fingers over the controls that finally opened them. All he needed now was the courage to step through them. It came through the hand on his shoulder. The voice that carried him into the launch bay, and to where he'd finally complete his healing.

"It's okay, Trip. I'm right beside you."


	13. Chapter 13 Stand By Me

A/N: Well, here we are, at the penultimate chapter. You know the hardest job I've had posting it? Trying to think up a suitable title! But then I turned on the radio, and with perfect timing, I heard the most fitting song, whose title just says it all. So, here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Thirteen - Stand By Me

The launch bay was just as Trip had last seen it. To his eyes, though, it seemed… smaller. Almost claustrophobic. Or maybe it was because those eyes were focussed so intently on just one sight inside it.

Shuttlepod One. The spacecraft where he'd lived out dreams of his childhood, and one of the nightmares of the adult life he'd chosen to take. Just a few months ago, he'd almost died inside it. Helpless, and inwardly terrified, he'd come to a final, desperate decision.

Four days ago, through wholly different circumstances, he'd come here again. To commit the same, unthinkable act. To end his life, by _his_ own hand.

Now, he'd come here to heal. With so many scars on his psyche, it wasn't going to be easy.

Realising this was something he had to do himself, Jon reluctantly released his hand from Trip's shoulder. More than ever now, the instinct to protect him was overwhelming, but - no. He had to let Trip go, let him find his own way through this, while he had to find a delicate balance. How to stay close enough to support him, but at enough of a distance to give him the space he needed.

He needed movement, too. The freedom to walk around, unhindered, until he reached where he had to go.

'_As long as it takes,_' Jon reminded himself, watching Trip start his journey towards that moment. A slow, silent circuit around the launch bay. '_As much time as he wants. A__ll the space that he needs. And all the support I can give him._'

Lost in thoughts and memories, Trip glanced slowly around him, then back at that tiny capsule. Had it really been four days ago? Just _four_ days? Had he really come here to kill himself? Had he really been that desperate, to do something so completely out of character?

Another memory answered that last question for him. Made him turn his eyes to a different direction. The wall beyond Jon's shoulder, where a glass thrown in blind, violent fury had shattered against it. There'd been nothing inside it, thankfully, but it would have still created one hell of a mess. Not to mention an unwelcome hazard for whoever had to clear it up.

Something more than his conscience compelled him to that small but fateful space. Dropping to his heels, Trip studied it for several moments, trying to picture a scene that was no longer there. Shards of shattered glass, to mirror an equally shattered friendship. A sobering thought, that made him frown, and bow his head in silent remorse. Not exactly one of his proudest moments.

Nothing there now, though. Everything was as it should be. All back to normal. It brought him comfort he still wasn't sure he deserved.

He'd assumed that task had fallen to one of the maintenance teams. A quiet voice put him gently straight, and made him gratefully smile.

"Once I knew you were out of danger… well, I needed to do something useful. I owed you that much, Trip, at the very least. And I'm pretty sure I got it all."

As he'd hoped, the chagrin on Trip's face changed into a grin of sheepish gratitude. To his greater surprise, it lifted even further, into a flash of humour that both of them welcomed.

"Thank God for that. I was all ready to get down here with a dustpan an' brush."

"I'll remember that the next time Porthos tries to wreck my ready room," Jon shot back, grinning too.

His next thoughts, though, were more serious. He just needed his eyes, a gentle smile, to convey them.

'_It_'_s_ _okay_, _Trip,_ _just take your time._ _I_'_ll_ _be here._'

Smiling back at him, Trip nodded. Still gently fingering that patch of wall, he straightened up again. As Jon noted, his eyes were clear again. A bright and calm blue.

Almost there. He was almost ready.

A few more steps brought him back to the Shuttlepod. Slowly, thoughtfully, he touched it. Smiled slightly, as if he were re-connecting with an old friend. Running his hand over its side-hatch, he calmly opened it – unstopped this time – and carefully eased himself through.

As he'd done on that fateful day, Jon cautiously followed him. For reasons he didn't yet understand, Trip was staring up at the access hatch above them. Through a reflective smile, he finally spoke. A soft, hesitant admission.

"For the second time in my life, Jon, I – I almost died here."

Recalling that nearly disastrous mission for himself, Jon nodded, but resisted the urge to reply. It was just as well, because the shocking significance of Trip's next words left him speechless.

"I – I don't know if Malcolm ever told you, but… well, maybe a bit more honourably, I tried to do it here too."

Still struggling to come to terms with what he'd just heard, Jon could only stare back at him. No, Malcolm hadn't told him a thing about this. Come to think of it, both he and Trip had been strangely reluctant to talk about their ordeal. Met with the same silence now, he tried to find the most obvious reason behind it.

"You – You tried to _kill_ yourself? What, from the hypothermia? You were hallucinating?"

His thoughts understandably elsewhere, Trip finally turned to face him with a slight, almost shy smile.

"Well, no. Not exactly. An' I only get the crazies when I get stuck in a desert," he said at last, the warmth in his eyes taking away the pang of guilt Jon felt for that other, regrettable memory. But as he recalled how close he'd come to dying through such another extreme, the smile faded. The voice grew quieter.

"We were freezin' to death, Jon. Runnin' out of air, not even sure you'd find us in time, and…"

Glancing back up at the hatch above them, he then paused. Waited for Jon to do the same. To put two and two together. To understand. And as realization left him speechless once more, he softly confirmed his Captain's horrified thoughts.

"I knew if there was just one of us usin' that air, at least that person would have a chance to survive. So I crawled up into the airlock, an' told Malcolm what I was gonna do."

Another pause, followed by another flash of bittersweet memory.

"Don't have to tell you, Jon, that was a _big_ mistake. Next thing I know, he's pointin' a phaser at me, threatenin' to shoot me if I didn't come down. Then we had what you'd call a full an' frank trade of views. I said things to him that… God, Jon, I'd give anythin' to take back. But whether I deserved it or not, he - he saved my life that day. Like you, he's… uh… kinda good at that."

Suddenly drained, Trip fell silent once more. Settling onto the seat behind him, he shuffled over so that Jon could sit beside him. Finally, he met Jon's eyes, waiting almost nervously for his reaction.

He had a long wait. For thirty clear seconds, Jon could only stare at him, torn between shock, pride, and complete disbelief. Such selfless bravery shouldn't have surprised him, of course, but after everything Trip had just been through – damn, it was taking all of his concentration to digest another bombshell that rocked him even more.

"That's what I was gonna do, Jon. Fly myself outta here, climb into that airlock, then blow the hatch."

It hadn't happened, of course. Malcolm had seen the first, foiled attempt he'd made to kill himself, and seen straight through the lamest excuse since 'the dog ate my homework.' He'd also given his Captain, as he'd so uniquely put it, a damn good kick up the arse to get his act together, and start that vital search.

As Trip now softly told him, straight into his eyes, he owed them both a lifetime's debt of gratitude.

"I – I know I didn' appreciate it at the time, but… God, Jon… thank God he saw me in that airlock. And thank God you were there to stop me."

His eyes had been clear, full of emotions, but surprisingly free of tears. Jon's eyes, though, were full of them. The astonishment he'd felt for what Trip had just told him was matched only by immeasurable pride. The courage it had taken for Trip to say those words left him humbled. And it could only lead to one conclusion.

Finally, inevitably, Trip's eyes started to fill too. The defences beyond them started to break down. From the slightest change in his expression, Jon's arms wrapped themselves around him. Held him, supported him, as one of the bravest people he'd ever known fell apart against him.

He could do nothing more, to stop what had to happen. Not just for Trip, but for him too. They both needed this. A moment of mutual healing, that stretched into several minutes.

Terrified apologies, whispered onto a shoulder.

"I - I tried to kill myself! Oh, God, Jon, I - I don' even know if I wanted to do it. If I really wanted to do it, an'… God, Jon, I - I'm sorry… I'm sorry… 'm sorry…"

Quiet forgiveness, whispered in return.

"I know, Trip. I know. It's okay, Trip, I'm here. We're going to get through this, the same as we've come through everything else. Together, Trip. It's okay, I'm not going anywhere."

It took several more minutes for these words to reach a broken, terrified soul. Then, at last, he felt the first change. Trip's breathing steadied back into normalcy. Shifting against him, he finally started to push himself away.

The first thing he saw was a gently proud smile. A silently anxious question, answered by a tired but equally determined nod.

'_Yeah_. _I_'_m_ _gonna get there_. _I_'_m_ _going to be okay_.'

Not doubting that for a moment now, Jon smiled back. He was more proud of his friend than he'd ever been. Than he was ever likely to be. And, when he finally let Trip go, he offered a suggestion that both of them needed.

"I don't know about you, Trip, but I need a drink. A _really_ stiff drink."

"Assumin' you don't get me _too_ hungover on it… yeah, I - I think I'll join you," Trip agreed, his voice still betraying how badly that drink was needed. But then he smiled. One of the bravest smiles that Jonathan Archer had ever seen, that turned his own sombre mood into grateful laughter.

"An' I promise you, Cap'n… I won't be throwin' _any_ more glasses."


	14. Chapter 14 Resolutions

A/N: Well, folks, this is it. The final chapter for a story that I've thoroughly enjoyed writing. At risk of sounding like a broken record, thanks again to everyone who have left such kind and positive reviews. They're all the incentive I need to keep writing for these wonderful characters.

I hope to have the next story posted here soon. There's a sneaky tease for it in this chapter. But, for now, let's bring this one to a close. Thanks again, and see you soon!

* * *

Aftermath

Chapter Fourteen - Resolutions

By the time they left the launch bay, it was approaching midnight. Half way back to Trip's quarters, they took a mutually agreed detour - both seeing the wisdom of his more sensible, no less enjoyable alternative to an alcoholic nightcap. The time honoured way to secure a full night's sleep, without the risk of a king sized hangover.

'_Best thing about warm milk an_' _cinnamon_? _Best night_'_s sleep in the world_, _and no regrets in the mornin_'.'

With a full day's duty ahead of him, Jon hadn't argued. Besides, he hadn't had warm milk in… hell, too many years. The memory brought both joy and regret. He'd forgotten how just its aroma, and his mother's own secret recipe, had woven its magic on a child consumed by grief for a father who'd ceased to recognize him.

The father he'd idolized, who hadn't lived to see his life's work change the history of space travel. Every time they went to warp, he felt his father's spirit. The same bitter regret, for everything he'd missed. God, how he missed him.

As it had always done, and would do more than ever now, having Trip around instantly lifted his spirits. So did the happier memories that tended to come with him.

He'd also forgotten those nights back at the Academy. Raids on the mess hall, oddly similar to this one. Just days into their friendship, he'd found out how dangerously mischievous Lieutenant Charles Tucker III could be. Missed the last meal of the day? No problem. Just hit the kitchens yourself, and make your own.

Nine years on, that playful sense of mischief was as strong as ever. To Jon's further amusement, it was also maddeningly contagious.

Studying the goodies that Trip had also 'requisitioned' from Chef's stores, he couldn't help but smile. Forget the bright-eyed, infamous charm. If Chef found out that a certain chief engineer had ransacked his precious supplies, there'd be hell to pay. But the call of those cookies had also been irresistible. Against a Trip Tucker who'd suddenly re-found his appetite, he just hoped he got to see one of them, at least.

Midnight munchies were all well and good, of course, but… _God_, he was tired. Right now, he could sleep on his head. Not yet, though. Not until he'd talked out the shadows that still lurked inside his friend's eyes. This last demon that he had to defeat wasn't going to go down without one final throw of defiance.

Still, if anyone could beat it with hot milk and cookies… hell, he had no doubt that person would be Trip.

Safe now, in the sanctuary of his quarters, that battle could be resolved, once and for all. And just as he'd done before, Jon waited in patient silence for him to gather, and reveal, his thoughts. Settling on the edge of his bed, absently tousling Porthos' ears, it was several minutes before he finally spoke.

"Y'know, I heard once, that it takes greater courage to die than it does to keep on living. But seein' it from the other side, Jon, I'm not so sure… seein' her there, instead of you… God, Jon, I was terrified."

After a few false starts, Jon now knew exactly how to react to the fear he'd seen flash through Trip's eyes. He moved from the chair he'd been sitting on, to sit instead at Trip's side, sliding a reassuring arm across his shoulders.

"Yes, Trip, I know. But as you said yourself, there was a reason why she _had_ to be there, not me."

"Yeah, she was the only one who could tell me I wasn't to blame for her death. The only one who could convince me to come back," Trip agreed, shaking his head now, that such a simple misassumption had driven him to take such unthinkable measures. "All that time I was blamin' myself for what happened to her, then to find out that she didn't. To hear her tell me to live _my_ life for her, it…"

Letting that thought trail away, Trip then frowned. His eyes weren't just wide, they were bright too. The clearest blue that Jon had ever seen. They reflected the same realization in his voice. The same hope to believe that he finally had his answer. Understood why he'd tried to take his own life.

"Do - Do you think that's why I did it, Jon? Why I _had_ to do it? To - To go there, so she could help me understand why I couldn't go through with it?"

In truth, Jon had come to this conclusion already. But he had kept silent, knowing it was even more crucial for Trip to reach it himself. Now he smiled, shrugged, and gave Trip's shoulder a proud squeeze of acknowledgment.

"With everything we face out here, Trip, I'd say anything's possible. But for what it's worth - yes. Yes, I think you're right."

Even with this vital breakthrough, though, he still felt the tension linger through Trip's shoulders. Yes, he'd found his answer. But as a quiet voice reminded them both, it had come at a cruelly high cost.

"Well, for whatever reasons I saw her, I know I'll never forget her. An' I've learned my lesson, Jon. Playin' God with other people's lives, it… damn it, Jon, all it causes is a whole world of trouble."

"Yes, that trouble does seem to have a knack of finding us. Usually before we see it coming," Jon agreed, turning thoughtful himself now as he stared through Trip's window, at the boundless realm of space outside it.

Every day - no, every minute - they spent passing through it, he had to face its dangers. Make decisions to safeguard the lives of his crew. Subconsciously at least, Trip's life would always come at the top of that list. And if the worst should happen, what would he do? How far would he go, to save the life that meant so much to him?

The answer was frighteningly simple.

"But you're right, Trip. Playing God can cause you nothing but trouble. And you never know… maybe some time in the future, I might still have to do it."

"Well, I hope to God it doesn't end like this. Cost someone their life," Trip replied just as quietly, running his hand through his hair, until it left the tawny blond mop even more tousled than usual. When he spoke again, his voice was even softer – expressing not just his regrets, but Jon's too.

"This has been hell, Jon. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend."

Maybe it was the tiredness talking, but a note of dejection had crept back into Trip's voice. Gripping both his shoulders now, Jon moved quickly but gently to dispel it.

"I know, Trip. We've both been to hell and back. But it's over. We've _both_ come through it. And we're gonna be okay."

When Trip didn't answer, Jon frowned, studying him in concern that soon turned to fond amusement. While those cookies had given him his second wind, Trip's exhaustion was fast catching up with him. Leaning more and more against him, Trip Tucker was asleep where he sat. He just wasn't ready yet to admit it. That's why he needed his best friend's help sometimes, to nudge some sense into that stubborn, Southern boy head.

"And we can talk that through in the morning. But for now, you really need to get some sleep."

Remembering the promise he'd made to himself, Jon resisted the urge to turn it into an order. Then again, he doubted it would be needed anyway. The Leaning Tower Of Tucker was now listing more and more against his shoulder. He was probably imagining it, too, or maybe it was the tiredness that had thickened Trip's accent, but –

"Yes, mom."

– no, that drawn out drawl, that priceless smirk, confirmed what he'd heard. It also made it impossible for him not to grin too.

He was back. His irreplaceable friend was back.

It proved how tired he was, though, that he allowed Jon to gently nudge him down into the comfort of gently adjusted bedclothes. He was out for the count long before Jon finished draping them around his shoulders.

Jon was exhausted too. And, although nearby, his quarters suddenly felt an awfully long way away. But since Trip had now curled up on his side, kindly leaving him that space at the corner of his bed – well, as Trip would say himself, to not make good use of such consideration would be downright unneighbourly.

Unfortunately, Porthos had had the same idea. By the time Jon returned with an extra pillow, and a couple of blankets, that little corner of bed was occupied by a snugly curled dog. Torn between amusement and exasperation, and not wanting to disturb Trip, Jon gave in without any objections.

Besides, Trip's armchair was just as comfy. His desk chair, scooted across to act as a footrest, made its comfort even better. A mug of warm milk, a chocolate chip cookie that Trip had somehow missed, and a peacefully sleeping friend at his side, made it just about perfect.

Retrieving Trip's book, Jon leaned back in his chair, and settled down to read through the last page that he'd marked. Two hundred and seventy two words, that had helped to change the course of his ancestors' history. Its meaning was as profound now as it had been then. Glancing to where Lincoln's current day counterpart lay, safe and asleep beside him, his smile grew even wider.

"You know, Trip, he'd be proud of you. But _I'm_ even prouder."

Answered with a muffled snore, Jon rolled his eyes, then gratefully closed them. Yes, he could sleep too now – a clearing conscience bringing them both the healing comfort of peaceful, trouble-free dreams.


End file.
